


to catch a thief

by Wildehack (tyleet)



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-11 19:47:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20159089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tyleet/pseuds/Wildehack
Summary: Juno thinks he can live with it.





	to catch a thief

**Author's Note:**

> goblinish expressed "a great desire to wallow in Juno’s internal monologue as Nureyev dates someone(s) else," and that is what I have done, more or less. :) Thanks for the prompt!

  
Juno thinks he can live with it. At first.

Living with Peter Nureyev in closer quarters than he’s lived with anyone since Mom and Ben. It helps that Rita’s there, obviously, and is clearly laboring under the assumption that Juno had his heart broken by Mr. Tall, Dark, and Mysterious (currently operating under the alias John Robie, although Rita always forgets and calls him Mr. Glass, and Juno tends to pause awkwardly, biting back the name he wants to say, and then usually just says “Hey, you” instead.) Anyway, Rita’s…helpful, in her way, trying to give Juno as much space from Nureyev as possible, given the circumstances.   
  
It’s also helpful that Nureyev doesn’t seem to be holding their history against Juno any more than is reasonable. He doesn’t ignore Juno, but he’s no friendlier than is necessary for the work they do. Juno gets a blandly polite smile from him that Peter would probably claim is just part of Robie’s repertoire often enough that it starts to make him sick, especially because Nureyev also won’t….talk to him. Which is a good thing, Juno reminds himself. Makes this less awkward for everyone. But anytime Juno strikes up a conversation that isn’t at least bordering on business, Nureyev will politely excuse himself, and Juno will feel a familiar burning all down his esophagus. Regret, guilt, and just a dash of self-loathing. It’s like an emotional acid reflux.  
  
And sure, it’s painful to be close to the person he-–has a lot of regrets about, especially when he’s never been this close to Peter for this long before. Sure, they spent a night together, but now Juno knows that Peter likes extra salsa on his chilaquiles, and uses seven different products on his hair, all of them in shining green bottles that Rita swears are each individually worth more than the rent on their offices used to be, and has a morning yoga routine that always ends up with him hanging upside down from an inconvenient doorway doing crunches, sweat beading on the bare, golden expanse of his stomach. It doesn’t help with the goddamn regret, is all.   
  
But overall, Juno can live with it. He ruined things with Nureyev, and it’s better than he deserves to be treated as a trusted colleague, even if he’ll never be trusted as anything more than that again. Honestly it’s going better than any other attempt he’s ever made to keep things professional with an ex after a breakup. Diamond had tried to throw a filing cabinet at his head.  
  
And if he breaks and says “Nureyev-–” once when they’re alone in the engine room, and Peter doesn’t even look up from his task when he pleasantly corrects him–- “_Robie_, Juno. John to my friends,” and something sharp but invisible lances through Juno’s chest, well. It’s not like that’s worse than Juno deserves.   
  
Juno is more or less prepared for his own reaction, the little gut-punch he gets the first time Peter leaves with someone else for the night. It’s even plausibly work-related, because the guy’s on the mark’s security team. But Juno also notices that the man Peter has chosen to wrap himself around is tall and muscled and unscarred, and of course he’s looking at Peter like he’s just won the cosmic lottery, and Juno notices the little glance Peter gives him over his shoulder as they leave, a satisfied little glitter that means Peter knew he’d be watching. That Peter’s still holding it against him.   
  
“I messed up, Rita,” he says morosely, back in their shared quarters that night, a nearly empty bottle of whisky rolling on the floor between them. “Just–-totally wrecked-–a really good thing. What could have been a really-–a good thing.”   
  
“You’re gonna have to be more specific, boss,” she says, and hiccups.   
  
“With-–” Juno grits his teeth against the name that wants to come out, and she sighs and pats his arm.   
  
“With Mr. Not Actually Agent Glass,” she says sympathetically. “Yeah, I thought maybe you did.”   
  
“Thought you were on my side,” he says, and fumbles blindly for the bottle.   
  
“Oh I am, Mr. Steel,” she says, and steals the bottle back from him, hugging it to her chest like it’s a baby. “I’m always on your side. But no, I ain’t exactly _surprised_ that maybe you were the one to mess up a good thing.”   
  
Juno turns his head to the side, and finds his forehead pressed to Rita’s plush shoulder. He considers moving, but it’s nice. His head’s already pounding, which doesn’t bode well for tomorrow. “What do I do,” he says softly into the fabric of her shirt.   
  
“You tried apologizing?” she asks, but like she already knows the answer. “That’s always a good place to start, Mr. Steel.”   
  
“And if that doesn’t help?” Juno asks, because he’s drunk and he’s sad and he’s _allowed_ to be childish, Rita doesn’t care.   
  
Rita sighs. “Then you have to be a grownup,” she says, but kindly. “You’re gonna have to give him some space, and see what he does with it, and then–-you know, you might have to move on.”   
  
“Yeah,” Juno says, squeezing his eye shut against the way it’s going hot and painful at the corners. “Yeah, okay.”   
  
He wakes up the next morning with a terrible hangover, fully dressed except for one sock and for some reason his bra, which is hanging around his neck like a squashed medallion. Rita’s passed out on the bed next to him, drooling a warm patch onto his shoulder, a bunch of salmon-flavored snack puffs ground to powder around them, the bag still clutched in one of her hands.   
  
There’s a brisk rap at the door, and then it slides open without waiting. Peter’s standing there, because of course he is, looking clean and beautiful and freshly-showered. There’s a little purple bruise peeking out above the edge of his collar, and Peter’s make up is already on, his lips a perfect blood red and his eyes lined in gold, so that means he’s left it visible on purpose. It would have been easy to cover up.   
  
Juno swallows, and then he catches the look on Peter’s face, which is-–_resentful,_ Juno would say, if he didn’t know better.   
  
“You need something?” Juno croaks, and Peter’s face instantly smooths out.   
  
“Change of plans,” Peter says. “I may have picked up some interesting security codes last night, but they change at noon, so. We’re getting an early start.”   
  
Rita groans and clasps the salmon-puff bag more tightly, accidentally shaking out a few more puffs onto Juno’s chest.   
  
“Okay,” Juno says, and tries to smile. He can tell it comes out more like a grimace, but it’s the best he can do. “Okay, we’ll….be right there.”   
  
Peter pauses for a moment longer, watching as Juno painfully extricates himself from Rita’s grip, trying not to move his head too much. Juno thinks he might be about to say something else, but when Juno looks back up at him Peter just smiles that vague smile before sliding the door shut.  
  
*   
  
Peter goes home with another man on Luna, this one apparently just for fun, and then leaves with _twins_ when they’re stopped at Lesbos Station. Peter doesn’t stop looking to see if Juno is watching him leave, which is-–well, not great, but better than Peter just. Not caring at all. Maybe. Once Buddy makes them stop in at a nightclub-–Juno’s fairly certain she’s scoping out ideas for her establishment, and not for crime-–and he has to watch Peter dance with a tall woman with very long black hair, his hands sliding through it like water.   
  
Rita says his name, barely audible over the music, and Juno tears himself away from the sight of Peter cupping the woman’s face in one hand, leaning down to her. Rita pushes a drink into his hands, and Juno takes the distraction gratefully, busying himself with the glass. When he looks up, Peter and the woman are gone, and Juno realizes he’s not sure if Peter looked back.   
  
He winds up dry-heaving in a bathroom stall, telling himself it’s because the damn vodka is too strong.  
  
The next time Juno finds himself alone with Peter, they’re hiding in a supply closet waiting for the security detail to pass, and Juno’s trying to bandage Peter’s bleeding arm while Peter’s trying to reload his gun. It’s–-quiet, and tense, and–-just like old times, Juno thinks, although he doesn’t say it out loud.   
  
“Tighter than that,” Peter says in a low, firm voice. “I need to be able to use the arm, Juno.”   
  
“Any tighter and I’m gonna cut off blood flow,” Juno hisses. “You wanna use the arm for more than an hour into the future?”   
  
“I only need twenty minutes,” Peter says, wincing as he finally settles the new clip into the gun. “Then we can loosen it.”   
  
Juno exhales hard through his nose. “_Peter-_–”   
  
“_John_,” Peter snaps, and his voice comes out hard enough that they both go very still, waiting to see if they’ve been heard.   
  
“Sorry,” Juno mutters, when it’s clear they got lucky. 

“….It’s fine,” Peter says, which is an obvious lie.   
  
“No,” Juno says, and starts pulling the tourniquet tighter. “No, I mean–-I’m sorry, okay? I’ve never said it, and you–-deserved better than–-” _me_, he wants to finish, but he makes himself take a deep breath in, tugging at the bandage instead. “You deserved better than that,” he says softly. “I’m sorry.”   
  
Peter is looking at him, face unreadable in the dark. Not like Juno was expecting forgiveness, or–-a thank you, but _some _kind of reaction would be nice.   
  
“Okay,” Juno says, rubbing a hand over his face. “I think this is the only opening we’re gonna get.”   
  
Peter nods, and slides the door open.   
  
*   
  
Peter has a friend in Koriel City who’s clearly more than a friend, unless he greets all his friends by shoving his tongue down their throats. Peter visibly melts against him, and comes up from the kiss pink and grinning. He’s also-–he clearly _knows _Peter, because he waits for Peter to offer up his name before calling him anything, despite the enthusiastic greeting. His name is Clarys, and Juno hates him pretty much immediately.   
  
Rita nudges him hard in the ribs, and Juno fakes a smile.   
  
They’re staying in Clarys’s expensive and labyrinthine mansion for the duration of the job, and Juno’s room has a balcony overlooking an inner courtyard, the other wings of the house likewise looming over a couple trees and some pretentious statuary. He’s pretty sure he can see Clarys’s room from his balcony-–it’s the grandest ledge, with the most gilded railing. He looks up the first night and sees a man silhouetted against the pink curtains. After a moment he’s joined by a taller, slimmer figure, and the two shadows briefly become inseparable. 

Juno’s chest hurts, stupid and animal, and he reminds himself that he’s being a goddamn grownup. He thinks about going to Rita’s room, but she and Jet have been–-well, he doesn’t think going to Rita’s room would be a great idea tonight. He pours himself a drink, making sure to face away from the windows. He's not that much of a masochist.  
  
“It’s not like I’ve never been walked out on,” Peter says from behind him, and Juno jumps, spilling whiskey onto the carpet. Peter is leaning against the opened door frame, pink curtains drifting around him.   
  
“Did you-–did you come in from the_ balcony_?” Juno asks, and Peter shrugs.  
  
“My room’s just above yours. Seemed quicker than coming down the stairs.”   
  
“Great,” Juno says, and tosses back what remains of the drink. “And you decided to hop down because…?”   
  
“I thought it was time we talked,” Peter says casually. His face is a perfect mask: cool glittering eyes, red streak of mouth.   
  
Juno puts the glass down, then doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He picks it back up, turning it in his hands. “Okay. Do you–-wanna come in?”   
  
“I’m comfortable here,” Peter says, and he looks comfortable, elegant. Unbothered.  
  
“Okay,” Juno says, and swallows. He’s already taken his eyepatch off, and he finds himself itching to cover the scar back up. “Do you want a drink, or?”   
  
“As I was saying,” Peter says, deliberately pensive. “I’ve been walked out on before. I’ve certainly walked out on enough people myself. It’s not something I would normally hold against anyone.”   
  
“Guess I'm just special,” Juno says quietly, chest aching again. This is the talk, isn’t it? This is the part where Peter says leave it alone, stop pining, it’s never going to happen.   
  
“Well,” Peter says, a little bit of an edge creeping into his voice. “I was offering you a lot more than just a night.”   
  
“I know,” Juno says, and looks down at the glass. “I’m-–I’m sorry.”   
  
“You already said,” Peter murmurs.   
  
“Still am, though.”   
  
“How sorry?” Peter asks, and then he’s stepping away from the curtains, towards Juno.   
  
“Very sorry,” Juno says, his throat dry. He stays very still.   
  
Peter strokes a finger along Juno’s jaw, tipping his chin up. “Mm. And if you had to do it all again?”   
  
“Differently,” Juno whispers. “I’d do it differently.” 

Peter looks deliberately down at Juno’s mouth, and leans in, so there’s barely a breath between them. Juno doesn’t dare move. “Well, Juno,” he says, rich and soft, “That is very good to know.”   
  
He strokes the backs of his knuckles down the column of Juno’s throat, little shivering points of contact, then steps back. “I’ll be sure to keep it in mind,” he says brightly, and strolls back to the balcony. “For the future.”  
  
“N–-_Robie,_” Juno says, taking a dazed step forward, and Peter laughs at him, taking a coordinated step back, like they’re in a dance. Like Peter wants to–-_dance_ with him, like this isn’t a yes or a no but an invitation.   
  
“You know,” Peter says, briefly disappearing behind the shifting curtains. “When we’re alone, you might as well use my name.”   
  
When Juno steps out onto the balcony, Peter is gone, just the brief flutter of a scarf disappearing over the railing ten feet above Juno’s head. The scent of Peter’s cologne is still rich and sweet in the air, and he knows Peter is lingering on the balcony above him.   
  
“Goodnight, Peter,” Juno whispers. He doesn’t want anyone else to hear.   
  
“Goodnight, Juno,” Peter’s reply drifts down to him, private and amused.

**Author's Note:**

> any cary grant fans?


End file.
